


Healing wounds

by ylc



Series: Pointless [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But mostly angst, Communication Failure, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, I'll be adding tags as needed, M/M, Omega!Sherlock, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Some suicidal thoughts, but not really, dealing with past abussive situations, dealing with past consent issues, implied infidelity, implied past mpreg, implied past sheriarty, royal au, sequel/companion piece, some jealousy, this time there'll be an actual happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to recovery isn't an easy one, but happiness is waiting on the other side.<br/>So it's worth it, isn't it?</p><p>Sequel/last companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5673097">Pointless thoughts</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So.. I promised I was going to write this. And I… well, I wrote it and I rather liked it, but I think I might be dealing with some heavy topics and well, I’m very nervous about that. I’m not very good at dealing with emotions IRL, so I struggle writing them, but I really really felt this companion piece was needed. Considering all the events of the main fic, I just couldn’t casually proclaim ‘and everyone lived happily ever after’ because that wouldn’t have felt honest to me. There were issues left to be explored but I think Mycroft’s POV wasn’t the best way to tackle them so… yeah, that’s why this piece was important to me.  
> Anyway, enjoy?

If he had been given a choice, Sherlock would have skipped the party following the Coronation ceremony. As things stand however, he’s forced to attend and put on a smile for everyone’s sakes.

He really doesn’t want anyone’s  _ pity  _ and so he tries not to let his darker thoughts to show, but it’s difficult. Everyone seem to be doing just fine, everyone seems so  _ over it _ and yet he can’t-

But tonight is not the night to dwell on that. So instead he talks and smiles and jokes and dances and prays nobody notices his inner misery. The small Crown resting on his head feels too heavy and he wants to throw it away with all his might, but he keeps reminding himself it could be so much worse.

All in all, things turned out better than he expected and so he doesn’t get to complain.

Deep inside however-

Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?

* * *

 

In John’s arms, the world seems so much more bearable. He realizes however, that that’s not the answer to all his troubles: there’s a long way to recovery and he’s not entirely sure he wants to walk it.

Now that Magnussen has been dealt with, that John is back and that Abigail is safe, he really doesn’t feel like he has a reason to push forward. He wants to, because he feels like he has earned his right to be  _ happy _ but sometimes-

He catches sight of Mycroft and Lestrade leaving and something that feels like jealousy burns bright in his chest. It’s unfair to begrudge his brother his happiness of course, but why doesn’t he get to have that too?

John squeezes his hand gently, dragging his attention back to him and he can tell the doctor knows what he’s thinking. The thing he has always loved the most about John is how he always seems to know what he’s thinking and never judges him for it.

God, he has missed him.

“I don’t know how I managed without you” he whispers softly, pressing himself closer to the older male. “I don’t know if I could do it again.”

“You won’t have to” John promises, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “Never again.”

Oh, if only he could believe that-

* * *

 

He doesn’t notice when it happens, too entertained with Molly’s tale. Everyone is laughing around him and the good cheer is contagious, despite what’s going on in his inside, so he allows himself to get lost in the story and laughs along, ignoring most of what’s happening around him.

He’s vaguely aware of picking Abigail up and of the girl messing with his curls, but it’s not until he hears John’s soft  _ oh _ that he realizes his daughter has taken his Crown from him and has placed it on top of her own curls.

Sherlock’s breath catches as his daughter smiles brightly at him. Despite all her brilliance, she’s still just a child, just a girl playing dress up, completely unaware of the responsibilities the Crown on her head implies and yet-

“Papa?” she asks softly, sensing there’s something wrong and Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the anxiety he’s feeling.

His daughter can’t go through the hell he has gone through, he won’t allow that and yet- didn’t he tell Mycroft-? “You look lovely, sweetheart” he whispers brokenly and Abigail eyes him funnily, obviously not fooled one bit. Molly, bless her heart, has noticed his uncomfortableness and hurries to take the girl from him and distract her with an exaggerated retell of her previous story.

Suddenly it’s hard to breath and someone is dragging him out of the ballroom, but he’s barely aware of that. He follows along, panicking a bit, remembering all too well the last time someone manhandled him, but the grip on his arm is gentle, not one bit threatening and yet-

He pulls away, pressing his back against the wall and breathing hard. John stands in front of him, staring at him worriedly and Sherlock growls angrily. He doesn’t want anyone  _ pitying  _ him, least of all John and-

They stand in silence for a long while, neither moving and Sherlock trying to get himself under control. He’s breathing hard and his chest aches unpleasantly; he hugs himself, suddenly feeling very alone and very scared.

“Maybe we should retire” John suggests gently, hesitating to touch him and Sherlock hates it- he hates it so much that things can’t go back to what they were before this whole nightmare began, but-

“Yes please” he whispers and John places a hand on his waist, careful not to put much pressure on his touch. He guides him towards the bedroom and Sherlock forces himself to keep taking deep breaths so he won’t panic again.

Once inside the room, John makes him sit on the bed and quickly checks his pulse. He seems more worried now and that angers the Prince, because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, things had been going fine and- and-

“Sherlock” John says, lightly grabbing his wrists, drawing small circles over his pulse point. “What’s wrong?”

He finds he really doesn’t want to talk about that, he wants to ignore all his troubles for the time being. It’s been a long day (or week, or month, or year) and he just wants-

He pulls John towards him, taking the older male by surprise and making him almost fall on top of him. Now this… this he can work with.

He starts with a kiss, soft and gentle, more loving than anything else. John hums contently, looking a tad unsure, but for now willing to go with it. The Prince smiles, carefully moving towards the middle of the bed, kissing his partner all the while.

“Are you sure-?” John begins, uncertain, but Sherlock pulls him into another kiss, this one more heated. They haven’t done anything since their reunion, too many limitations between them and now-  He doesn’t need to talk right now, he needs- he needs-

John’s body of top of his is a comforting weight, nothing like what he had gotten used to. The blond kisses him enthusiastically, without much finesse, just as messily as they did the first time around, almost with the same desperation. Their situation has changed since then and yet, it has the same hopelessness edge of their last time.

They kiss for what feels like a lifetime, Sherlock’s previous anxiety taking the back of his mind. He’s not completely relaxed, he feels a bit on edge and yet, he knows he wants this. In fact, he might need this. He needs to be reminded of what it’s like to be loved, to be taken care of, to-

His gagging reflex hits then, the scent of the Alpha’s arousal almost overwhelming. It’s simple biology, his body reacting to a strange Alpha, but-

John seems to be having the same difficulty, judging by how quickly he pulls away. Sherlock’s scent has changed permanently, it’s supposed to keep other Alphas away. They both are breathing hard, trying not to be sick all over themselves, their arousal quickly vanishing.

The Prince rolls on his side, tears streaming down his cheeks. It seems that even this will be denied to him and isn’t that the most unfair thing in the world? He draws his knees close, hugging them to himself, feeling despondent and frustrated.

John stands by the edge of the bed, looking at him with obvious worry. “Just leave” the younger male pleads, his voice a broken murmur. “It’s fine.”

The doctor sighs, sitting down once more and lightly placing a hand over Sherlock’s shoulder. “It’s a natural reaction, Sherlock. You can hardly-”

“It’s not fair!” the Prince exclaims finally, sitting up and letting all of his frustration and anger show. “It’s not fair that after everything- after everything-!”

John takes him in his arms and starts humming softly. It’s not exactly ideal, because his stupid body craves comfort from  _ someone else  _ but eventually he does relax, his anger fading a bit. “It’s going to be alright” John promises, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. “We’re together now and that’s what matters.”

That might be true but he still wishes-

Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s short and it ends rather abruptly, doesn’t it? Well, this is definitely going to have more chapters, only I’m not sure how many more. I want to give these two their happy ending and I feel I shouldn’t be adding any more drama but well… Angst and drama come more naturally to me.  
> Am I missing tags? I feel this could be very upsetting for some people, so I want to tag as appropriately as I can, but I’m very bad at it so please feel free to point out any tags you think I should include and any concern you might have.  
> Let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is said to heal all wounds.  
> But how long does it take?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s a new chapter! I think I might be going on around a bit in circles, but I do believe is necessary to establish a few things. Still… I don’t know.  
> The theme is quite complicated and everyone has ways of dealing with them differently, but I’m managing as well as I can. Still, any issues you think I should address, please let me know!  
> Enjoy?

It’s hard to say how long he has been standing at the small balcony, although he guesses it’s been over an hour, judging by how cold his hands are and by the fact that his whole body is starting to protest about standing up and still for so long. The idea of going back to his room however, is almost unbearable.

It’s been almost two months since…  _ that day  _ and for the most part, he’s happy with the way things are going. It’s not perfect, certainly, but it’s better than it was  _ before. _

Still-

Someone clears their throat behind him and Sherlock flinches briefly. He hears a sigh and recognizes the person behind him immediately. John doesn’t come any closer, knowing better by now than to try to touch him when he’s like this. He’ll wait patiently until Sherlock beckons him closer, not moving an inch until the younger man has given his permission.

He hates this. He hates that even now his body reacts when someone approaches him without him noticing it; he flinches at the slightest contact, no matter how innocent or well intended it is. He relaxes almost immediately, because there’s nothing to feel uncomfortable about, but-

He had thought it wouldn’t matter. And it shouldn’t; he has always managed to detach himself from his body and its needs and he should be able to detach himself from its hurts too, but  for the most part he can’t stand people getting into his personal space and sometimes he panics when they touch him and there’s  _ no reason _ , not a single reason for him to feel this way, he doesn’t think, because it’s not like, it’s not like-

“Sherlock, breathe” John urges, still not moving and the Prince forces himself to take long deep breaths. He feels like he’s drowning and he hates it, he hates it so much-

He gestures for John to come closer and the other male hurries to comply, closing the distance between them in a couple of strides and pulling him into a light embrace so not to overwhelm him. Sherlock forces himself to keep breathing, because there’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with this and yet-

He buries his nose against John’s neck and the older man hums softly, trying to calm him down. But that doesn’t work either, because the  _ smell  _ is  _ wrong,  _ because his stupid body is craving comfort from his  _ Mate _ and isn’t that just fucked up?

God, how he hates this.

“It’s fine, it’s fine” John whispers soothingly, running his fingers through his curls. “I’m here.”

He is. But for how long?

* * *

 

John ends up sleeping on the floor most nights, leaving  the bed to Sherlock. Abigail usually stays with Molly, both because she has gotten used to the female’s scent and also because she gets quite upset by the conflicting scents of her parents. Sherlock’s bond is indeed fading, but it’ll never be completely gone and that makes their combined scents… odd, to say at least.

Sherlock worries about that.

It seems unfair that after surviving all the odds against them, they still don’t get to be happy now. He places a hand over the scar on his neck, a constant reminder that he’s  _ damaged goods  _ and-

No regular Alpha would take a previously mated Omega; it just goes against every instinct. He can’t bond again, it’s very unlikely he’ll have any more children. His scent has been forever changed, making it completely disgusting for any other Alpha that’s not his Mate. He’s not- he’s not-

“Sherlock.”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten. John is, of course, no regular Alpha and he does seem to still want to be with him, but he’s not sure if that can last. Sure, they have Abigail and they love each other and yet he wonders if that will ever be enough.

The answer, he fears, it’s  _ no. _

John cares for him and he doubts he’ll leave him, especially not now when he’s so  _ fragile,  _ but that hardly means anything. If John left and found someone else… well, it would break his heart, but he could live with that. John staying and turning to resent him at some point? That’s unbearable.

“That’s an unfair assessment” John interrupts his dark thoughts, sitting at the edge of the bed, far enough to give him space, but close enough for them to cuddle if that’s what Sherlock wants.

“What?” the younger male demands, a bit frustrated and John sighs, placing a hand over his leg lightly. Sherlock forces himself not to flinch at the contact and so the doctor keeps on touching him.

“I would never leave you, Sherlock” the other male says earnestly. “I wouldn’t have left you in the first place if- well. Nevermind that. The point is, now that I’m back, why would I want to leave again?”

Sherlock sighs, sitting up so they’re at eye level. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“That’s not true” John protests calmly. “I would have your heart, if you would deem to give it to me. And you’ve already given me a daughter which is... much more than I ever thought we could have.”

The Omega doesn’t answer right away, letting his hand come to rest on top of his beloved’s and drawing small circles over his knuckles. “You’ve always had my heart” he whispers softly. “Nothing could ever change that.”

John smiles sadly, intertwining their hands together and squeezing a bit. “There’s nothing else I would want, then.”

Sherlock looks away, his heart clenching painfully. “Nothing at all? What about a real Mate? More children? I-”

“I have all I need” the doctor interrupts him, sliding closer, pressing their foreheads together gently and Sherlock finds himself fighting back tears. “You’ve always been more than enough Sherlock.”

“I wish-” he whispers and John silences him with a chaste kiss.

“We’ll make do” he whispers back, before kissing him again. “It’s not what we would have wanted, but it’s enough.”

God, Sherlock certainly hopes so.

* * *

 

His heart always clenches painfully when he sees John with Abigail. The Alpha has tried to make up for all the time he has missed with his daughter, but it’s obvious he’s not completely comfortable with the way things are. It’s to be expected, really, finding out you have a child is a bit of shock, he supposes, and considering the circumstances of the conception and the finding out… well, it might be a little too much to take in in such short time.

Still, they make quite an adorable picture, especially since they look so alike. Even if he hurts inside, Sherlock can’t help smiling a bit at watching the pair playing. Abigail squeals delightedly as her father chases after her and the Prince smiles a bit more; children are so adaptable and they settle in so quickly.

He places a hand over his still flat stomach and wonders. There are no symptoms really, except for the occasional urge to vomit, but that might be the fading bond. He gets tired easily too, but he does have a lot of work to do now that he’s the Crown Prince, so there’s that.

He  _ hopes  _ he isn’t pregnant, but if he is-

He thinks that John would love the child as if it was his, but he’s not so sure about his own reaction. He had been so happy when he found out about Abigail and yet he knows that if he does turn out to be pregnant this time around, he’ll be devastated. And that won’t be fair on anyone: not on him, not on the child who can’t be blamed for his parentage. Still-

“Hungry?” John asks him, Abigail on his shoulders, both smiling brightly at him. The Prince smiles back, if a bit hesitantly and stands up.

“Starving” he replies, deciding he ought not to worry just yet. One day at the time.

They’ll make it through. They have survived worse odds, haven’t they?

And yet-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an idea of where this is going, but it’s a bit vague right now. There’s a bit of extra plot I want to throw in, in part for the drama potential, but I also believe it would help to establish a few things between these two. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever written Mary before and well… I’m not sure how comfortable I’m writing her.   
> Too many plot ideas, but all of them are a bit… fuzzy at this point. Thoughts anyone? Something you would like to see? (it’ll all lead to a happy ending, I swear, but it’ll take time. Time might heal all wounds, but it’s not magic, it takes work!)  
> Anyway… thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing to do but wait...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here’s a new chapter! I should know by now that I can’t write this amount of angst and not get frustrated and develop a bit of writer's block but well… it seems I might never learn my lesson.  
> Anyway, enjoy?

When he was much younger (a child, really) he had thought he wouldn’t want to marry and have a family of his own. In his experience, the whole thing seemed too much of a hassle and completely not worth it.

Mother and Father were distant, if polite to each other. There was no warmth between them and they certainly didn’t show any affection towards their children. Although Sherlock believed the King really liked his mother (not loved, because if you love someone you wouldn’t want them to be miserable and it was easy to see how  _ desolate _ Mother was), he had always known they weren’t happy together.

Why would he want that then?

And then-

John had showed him that  _ there was nothing wrong with caring,  _ that  _ friends protect each other,  _ that  _ being alone isn’t necessary. _ While his brother had always loved and cared for him, Mycroft had always kept a certain distance, a cold front. Sherlock had never truly seen how affection looked like.

He remembers spending days at the Watson’s household, observing John’s parents and figuring out that things didn’t have to be like they were between his parents. He remembers suddenly understanding that a couple _could_ be happy, that they _should_ want to make each other happy. That marriage could be about love and care and not about power and political stance.

And he had wanted that.

Not that he had thought he could get it, not really, because there were certain expectations to be meet. And yet, deep down, he had always hoped-

Now, as he watches John with their daughter, his heart clenches painfully. Because yes, it’s what he wanted and at the same it isn’t, because he can’t be John’s, not like he would want to, because while they could technically marry, they won’t be having anymore children, because while they might be together, they don’t- they don’t-

He sighs. Better not to think much about that. It’s no use and it’ll only upset him. Things will work out, they have to. They love each other and now they’re together, even if circumstances are not ideal.

It’ll be fine.

How many times does he have to say it before he starts believing it?

* * *

 

Sherlock didn’t think it was possible, but his brother looks now more tired than ever before. Not completely unexpected, he assumes, mostly because things were a bit of a chaos even before Father’s death and now Mycroft has been left to deal with the previous King’s messes, along with a bunch of nobles that they can’t really trust, but that they must rely on at some level.

Still, there’s a certain happy spark shining in his eye that didn’t use to be there and the Prince can’t help to feel a bit envious of his happiness. He wishes things were as simple for him as they’ve been for his brother.

“John is worried.”

“About what?” Sherlock asks, a bit defensively. John should come to him first with his concerns, although he supposes-

“About you, of course” Mycroft replies, leaning back on his seat. “You haven’t been sleeping and you barely eat-”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not” his brother argues, his tone reasonable. “And it’s perfectly natural for you to not be. But Sherlock, if you insist on just… closing off, there’s very little we can do to help.”

“I don’t need help” the younger male argues darkly. “I’m dealing with it.”

“You’re clearly not” Mycroft protest, placing a hand over his knee in what he supposes it’s meant to be a comforting way. “Please, Sherlock. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

The younger male keeps his eyes fixed on his lap, refusing the get overly emotional about this. He’s well aware he’s far from being  _ fine,  _ but he really doesn’t want to discuss it. Still, he knows his brother is unlikely to just let the matter drop-

“Are you- are you worried about the baby?”

“There’s no baby” he hisses, although his hand flies towards his stomach right away. There’s no child, there can’t be a child, because if there is-

“Sherlock-”

“Don’t you have other things to worry about?” he challenges, standing up abruptly. Mycroft stares at him, concern written all over his face, a certain sadness in his eyes. But what Sherlock can’t stand is the  _ pity  _ in his gaze, so he huffs angrily and storms out of the room, leaving his brother to deal with the paperwork on his own.

He doesn’t want anyone’s pity. He can’t stand it.

He really can’t.

* * *

 

_ If  _ there was a child though, it would make things a bit easier on Abigail in the future. As things stand, with her being the only Heir to the throne, she’ll be forced to marry and have children, regardless of her secondary gender. Although Sherlock is certain his brother wouldn’t impose her a marriage to someone she didn’t want, it means little in the great scheme of things.

After all, it’s not like Sherlock opposed to his own marriage.

It’s no use telling himself he didn’t have any other choice, that it was marrying or losing Abigail. It all comes down to him  _ agreeing  _ to the marriage; he stood at the altar and said  _ I do. _

It just makes the whole ordeal more horrifying.

Things wouldn’t be as desperate for his daughter, or at least he hopes so, but he would like to spare her of having to make such ‘choices’. With another heir to spare-

Mother might have been right, after all: there’s just no escaping their fate, is there?

He rubs his temples tiredly, not having enough strength to care about how horrifying his thoughts are. He’s beginning to  _ sympathize  _ with Mother and her little reward for him and his brother due their sire and now-

There’s no way to tell for sure if an Omega is pregnant until a Heat is missed. You can be  _ suspicious _ and there might be  _ symptoms _ and there are  _ chances _ , but there’s no way to tell for certain. His next Heat is just a couple of days away, but the  _ doubt  _ is killing him inside.

He decides to lie down for a while, feeling too emotionally drained to care for the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything in the last 24 hours. He’s not particularly hungry in any case, although he has no doubt that John will worry and then fuss over him until he agrees to eat something.

But it all seems so… useless. He just wants to sleep and be left alone.

Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

* * *

 

“You’re worrying your brother and your… _ doctor _   unnecessarily.”

Sherlock groans, not bothering to open his eyes to acknowledge his uninvited guest. The former Queen huffs, but doesn’t comment and eventually the Prince gets tired of the dense silence. “What do you want?”

“Nothing” his mother answers simply, shrugging. “Your brother might have mentioned you weren’t feeling alright and I figured I could pay you a visit.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. If Mycroft thought sending Mother to talk to him was a good idea- “Now, darling, don’t make that face. I do know what you’re going through, you know?”

“Yes” the male hisses darkly. “You also made no secret that you felt no sympathy towards me.”

The woman huffs once more, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. Sherlock glares and retreats, pressing his back to the wall, half hoping it’ll swallow him whole and spare him of this uncomfortable conversation.

“You never knew how to  _ let go” _ the female comments off handedly.

“Please forgive me for not simply ignoring your words to me on my wedding night” he throws back angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Mycroft might be more forgiving, but then you should also consider that you  _ murdered our bloody father  _ to spare him of sharing my fate.”

The former Queen’s eyes harden and Sherlock flinches under the cold stare. “That’s most certainly not the case.”

“Oh, so you had nothing to do with Father’s death?”

“That would be treason, darling” she offers him an icy smile, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger. “And in any case, your brother was never at risk of ‘sharing your fate’ as you said. Death seems a bit more… terrible than marriage, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t know” Sherlock replies with an icy smile of his own. “But I’ll keep it in mind when my own children are in line.”

Violet rolls her eyes. “You were always so dramatic.”

“And you never cared for me” the Prince replies evenly. “So kindly stop this farce and leave me alone. I don’t know what you think-”

“Now, sweetheart, I’m just-”

“I’m fine!” the male snaps, standing up in a flash, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I’m perfectly fine! I don’t need anyone’s  _ help,  _ or  _ support  _ or whatever the hell you think you’re doing!”

His mother stares at him for a beat and then looks away, biting her lip gently. “I do know what you’re going through, Sherlock. It’s scary and most of all, it’s frustrating because there’s nothing you can do-”

“Leave” the Prince orders darkly, glaring at her. “I do not wish to discuss this with you.”

“Darling-”

“I said leave!” he exclaims once more, “just leave me alone as you have always done, why don’t you?!”

The female stares at him sadly and then nods to herself, standing up and heading towards the door. Before she leaves though, she turns to him once more. “I can understand you pushing me away. But you’re going to need all the support you can get love, don’t shut yourself off”

He doesn’t turn to face her. He finds himself incapable of it.

As the door closes, Sherlock kneels down, silent tears streaming down his face.

Could it get any worse?

* * *

 

“It’ll be fine” John assures him for what feels like the hundredth time. Sherlock wishes he could believe him, but he can’t stop his body from shaking, nervousness overwhelming his logical thoughts. John sighs and presses a quick kiss against his forehead, smiling at him softly. “Either way, it’ll be fine” he promises earnestly. “I’ll be here, no matter what, alright?”

The Prince nods, not wanting to argue that particular issue right now. He sincerely doubts John would leave him, but what he really wants is for John to keep on loving him and that’s- that might be too much to ask if he- if he-

“Sherlock” John interrupts his nervous breakdown once more, his tone firm and self assured. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Nothing-  _ absolutely nothing-  _ will change that ever.”

And those are really nice words, they certainly are, but they’re just that.  _ Words. _

Still, Sherlock knows better than to argue with John.

“Do you want me to stay?” the doctor asks gently, his hands cupping his face lovingly. “I could-”

“If I do go into Heat, it would be very unpleasant for you” Sherlock argues, ignoring the way his stomach is twisted in anxious knots. “And if not- I think I would rather be alone at first.”

John frowns worriedly. “Alright. Just promise me you won’t do anything… rash.”

Sherlock chuckles unamused. “I’m not going to kill myself, John” he whispers, pressing his forehead against his beloved’s. “I promise.”

The doctor nods once, before kissing him chastely. Sherlock smiles into the kiss and hurries to pull back, too anxious to really allow himself to get lost into the comfort of it. “I’ll see you in a few days. Hopefully.”

John nods, smiling sadly. He stands up and leaves the room shortly after, throwing one last glance in Sherlock’s direction. The younger male watches him go, his heart heavy with anxiety. 

“Are you sure you want to be alone?” Mycroft asks and the Prince turns to look at him sharply, having all but forgotten about his brother’s presence. He blushes a bit and the older male offers him a smile. “I could stay with you for a while.”

“I’ll be fine” Sherlock repeats once more, crossing his arms over his stomach defensively. “I’d really prefer to be on my own now.”

Mycroft nods tightly, standing up. “There’ll be a maid outside, in case you need anything. I- Call me, if there’s anything…” he trails off hesitantly and Sherlock nods.

“Thank you, but I assure you I’ll be fine” he repeats for the hundredth time and the King nods once more.

“I’ll see you in three days, then” the older Omega says as he exits the room and Sherlock closes his eyes, lying down on the bed.

“Three days” he repeats softly to himself. “At least I hope so.”

And so he settles down to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… am I making sense? How’s the character’s development going? Does it make sense to you?  
> I’m currently working on chapter 4 and a part of myself is resisting to write so damn much angst, because I keep telling myself it wouldn’t be consistent with what we know so far, but another part of me keeps whispering assurances that of course it’ll make sense, I just have to expand on the angst for a little longer and well… I don’t know.  
> Also, I feel we’re missing other POVs, but I’m not sure if I should incorporate them in this fic or I should write them as companion pieces or if I should just go ahead and carry on like this. Thoughts anyone?  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know if something doesn’t make sense or any suggestions you might have!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress?  
> What does that even mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m terribly sorry for the late update, but well… between writer’s block and my husband and daughter keeping me busy… well. I’m sorry.  
> Anyway, without further ado, enjoy?

He wakes up to find Lestrade standing by the end of the bed, a tray with what promises to be a hearty breakfast in his hands.

“No baby then?” he asks sitting up, his whole body aching unpleasantly, and yet, despite the discomfort, it’s a hundred times better than it was after his last Heat. 

“No baby” the guard agrees simply. Sherlock allows himself a few seconds to let the knowledge sink in, his heart feeling lighter now. There are still many obstacles in front of him, of course, but at least this particular  _ disaster  _ has been overcome.

“And the breakfast?” he asks, opening his eyes once more and Lestrade offers him a small smile.

“Your brother thought it would be better if you stayed in bed today” he answers calmly. “But of course, you’ll be doing as you please.”

Sherlock nods, a hesitant smile on his lips. “And John?”

The guard hesitates then and Sherlock becomes immediately worried. “He came around earlier. But- ah- the smell-”

“It made him sick” the Prince finishes for him and the older male nods. Sherlock closes his eyes once more, taking deep breaths. It’s not John’s fault of course, stupid biology is just making things hard on them but-

“Thank you” he says finally, accepting the tray, avoiding the other man’s eyes, not wanting to see the  _ pity  _ reflected in them. “I think I’ll be staying in bed after all.”

Lestrade sighs, but takes his cue to leave the Prince alone with his thoughts.

An overcome obstacle.

And yet it’s completely meaningless.

* * *

 

John comes back at some point during the afternoon. Sherlock is standing by the window, lost in his thoughts, observing his daughter playing tag with Molly in the garden. He smiles a bit at the scene, although his heart feels heavy with sadness once more.

He acknowledges John’s presence with a nod, indicating the doctor that it’s alright for him to step closer. John wraps his arms around his waist immediately, pressing a quick kiss against the side of his neck, making Sherlock shiver. He’s still a bit oversensitive due the Heat and while he would love for John to take him to bed, he knows that’s not really a possibility right now.

Maybe- maybe in a few months, when his bond has stabilized a bit and so the smell of his arousal won’t be as overwhelming. Of course there’s a chance that’ll never happen, but he has to believe-

That’s when he notices it. There’s another smell clinging to John’s clothes, something light and fresh and  _ not him.  _ His heart stops in his chest, his mind going on overdrive as he tries to identify the scent. He has smelt it before, more importantly he has smelt it  _ on John  _ before, but who…?

“Everything’s alright?” John asks softly, having felt him tense up. Sherlock forces himself to relax and nods, turning around in his beloved’s arms.

“It’s fine” he whispers, pressing a quick kiss on John’s nose, making the older male laugh softly.

For now, everything is fine. He refuses to begin worrying about yet another thing so shortly after having dismissed one of his worries. Everything will be fine.

He has to believe so.

* * *

 

The Castle is unbelievably  _ quiet. _

It’s the middle of the night, so it shouldn’t be surprising, and yet it is. It feels like an unnatural quietness, like something isn’t quite alright. Sherlock makes his way through the hall, mindful of his steps, not wanting to disturb the calm and yet feeling terribly unnerved by the silence.

He finally reaches the garden and he takes one long breath before resuming his walk. The air is a bit damp, signaling the start of summer. Funny how time seems to fly when-

He stops and takes another steadying breath, reminding himself he’s  _ fine.  _ He’s alive and he’s safe, but more importantly, John is alive and Abigail is safe and that’s all he’ll ever need for the world to be bearable.

“Sherlock?”

The Prince stops, turning around to find Molly leaning against a tree. Abigail spares a quick glance in his direction, but quickly turns her attention back to the fireflies flying in circles over the small pond.

“What are you doing up so late?” he chides, kneeling down next to his daughter. The girl rolls her eyes, like it’s  _ obvious  _ and Sherlock can’t help the fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips, remembering all too well all the sleepless nights he spent in his childhood, busy as he was investigating something.

“Abby couldn’t sleep” Molly answers, a soft fond smile on her lips. She looks at him then, really  _ looks  _ and frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter” Sherlock hurries to say, racking his mind for some facts on fireflies, so he can distract himself by talking to Abigail. Unfortunately, Molly beats him to speak and so he knows he’ll be forced to  _ talk  _ about what’s happening to him.

“Everyone’s worried, you know?” the female whispers gently, pulling him by the arm and forcing him to sit down next to her. Sherlock sighs, letting his head rest against the tree and closing his eyes.

“I know” he whispers back. “I wish they didn’t, though.”

Molly hums and lets the silence fall back between them. The thing about Molly is that she never prods for answers, always letting him set the pace. Which might be the best way to get Sherlock to talk, really, but- “I know I should- I should be feeling  _ better. _ The nightmare is over and I should move on, but I-”

“Nobody is expecting you to just… get over it, Sherlock. The whole thing was _ plain awful  _ on all of us, but in your case… it’s normal to feel…” she gestures vaguely and finally huffs, frustratedly. “I’m sorry. I’m bad at this things.”

Sherlock chuckles humorlessly. “A bit, yes.”

Molly’s lips twitch in a smile and she pats his knee awkwardly. “You did everything you could. And I know it couldn’t have been easy and that you’ll always…  _ hate  _ what you had to do, but- you did everything you could so things could work out.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, fighting back tears. “I should- there are things I did that I-”

His voice breaks and Molly places an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. Abigail abandons her observation of the fireflies and hurries to snuggle next to him, making him feel even worse. “What you need to remember is that you’re alive Sherlock” Molly whispers softly, hugging him close. “You’re alive and he isn’t. We won.”

Sherlock nods. He knows this on a conscious level, but- “Don’t let him won the war in your head, Sherlock” she continues earnestly, squeezing him even tighter. “Just don’t.”

A war indeed. A war he’s afraid he’s losing with each passing day; despite all the support he supposedly has, he feels so, so… “I feel so lonely” he murmurs, allowing himself to be held.

“But you’re not alone,” Molly says gently, not as a denial, but as an offer. The Prince hugs her then, feeling so vulnerable and yet-

“Thank you Molly,” he says softly after what feels like a lifetime later. 

She shrugs. “What are friends for?”

And yet-

* * *

 

A fresh start. A change of scenery.

It sounds like a great idea, but he is nervous. The last time he left the Castle to go live somewhere else… well. That didn’t quite work out, did it?

But it’s not like he’s going far. He’s just moving into the village, to the small cottage John has just bought. The doctor just isn’t comfortable with living in the Castle and well, he also believes it might be beneficial for Sherlock, so-

It’s a nice idea. Their own home, where they can play the happy family Sherlock hopes they’ll one day be. Abigail is delighted at the idea of having  _ her own room _ , a foreign concept that hadn’t seemed possible before; too many chances of something happening to her if she was left on her own. Now though-

Things are heading upwards. He himself is getting better, even if most people would find it hard to believe. Still, he thinks progress will be slow and there’s really no way to accelerate the process; all he can hope for is for time to heal his wounds. Accepting the past, accepting that there’s no way of changing it… that’s a step forward, isn’t it?

All he can do now is work for the future he wants. The future he wants for himself, for John, for their daughter. He wants them to be happy. 

It’s a process. It’ll be fine eventually.

It has to.

* * *

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, as he usually does, his heart beating furiously as another nightmare gets chased away. He continues lying in bed, taking long deep breaths and willing himself to calm down. 

Something is… not wrong, but different. It takes him a bit, but he eventually realizes what is it.

The noise.

It’s not that the Royal quarters are completely silent at night, because there are always guards patrolling the halls, but that’s about it. Here he can hear people talking and laughing, carriages coming and going, dogs barking, cats meowing and-

It’s curious, really. He had never really considered how  _ alive  _ the town is at night, how many people are still roaming the streets. Back in the Castle nights are daunting because all the company he has are his dark thoughts, but here-

“Something’s wrong?” John asks sleepily and Sherlock shakes his head. The older male hums, still half asleep and simply cuddles closer, tucking Sherlock’s head beneath his chin. The Prince smiles, pressing a kiss against his beloved’s neck and John hums contently, tightening his grip around him.

Sherlock lets his fingers come to rest next to John’s pulse point, reminding himself that they’re indeed alive and together. He lets his other hand run down John’s chest and the Alpha makes another pleased sound. Still smiling, the Prince’s hand continues its way down until it reaches the other’s waistband and that’s when John’s hand comes to grip it, stopping its trail.

Sherlock looks up, his eyes locking with John’s. For the longest time, they just stare at each other, trying to read into each other’s soul. “Let me” he whispers softly, a bit nervously. John continues staring for a beat and then nods, letting go of his hand.

The angle is a bit odd, with them lying so close together Sherlock needs to twist his hand and doesn’t quite manage to set a pace, but he finds himself unwilling to pull away to find a better angle. In any case, John doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the soft moans leaving his lips.

It’s a bit overwhelming, to be honest, the influx of data assaulting Sherlock’s brain. He wants to analyze and file every one of John’s reactions; it seems of vital importance that he doesn’t miss a single detail. He ignores his wrist’s protest as it grows tired, simply switching hands when he can’t keep it up. John’s eyes are closed, his mouth open, breathing hard. 

It’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

His own body reacts briefly, but not much. His whole focus is on John’s pleasure and maybe that’s for the best, considering his own scent might put a stop to the whole thing. He feels torn on where should he be looking: John’s face is gorgeous like this but-

“Sherlock!” John squeezes him tighter as he comes, so Sherlock’s head gets trapped against his neck, therefore robbing him of the chance of seeing his beloved’s face when he reaches climax, but he quickly shoves back his disappointment and resolves to just do it again soon. For now, he contents himself with cuddling closer, ignoring his aching wrist and turning to press soft kisses all along John’s neck and jaw.

“I love you” his companion tells him when he finally comes down from his high. “I love you so much.”

It’s partly the hormones, Sherlock knows, orgasm tends to make people all  _ soft and loving  _ (he would know about that) but there’s truth in the statement too. It seems impossible, really, that even now John can actually love him but-

He does. He really does. 

The words get stuck in his throat, despite knowing he should say them back. Not once has he told John that he loves him too, not once has he found the courage to speak of his feelings. It’s silly, he knows, because it’s not like it’s a big secret; it’s not like John doesn’t know it but-

“I’m so glad you’re here” he whispers instead, hidding his face against his lover’s neck. John hums and Sherlock smiles, because of course John’s understands. John has always understood; even when words fail him, the Prince knows that his  _ best friend  _ and  _ love of his life _ knows what he means.

“I should clean up” John tells him after a while, pulling apart. “Be right back.”

Sherlock nods, sleepy once more. He closes his eyes and allows the running water in the bathroom and the noise from the street to lull him back to sleep.

It’ll get better.

It’s getting better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I felt like I was running in circles here, so I decided to break that pattern. I’m not sure if it feels too abrupt, but I really needed to move the plot forward. There’s still angst to come (of course) but well… I needed to get out of Sherlock’s head a bit and start getting other things in motion (I’m not sure that makes sense?)  
> Hopefully next update won’t take me long, but I’m not entirely certain, seeing I’m moving next weekend so I have a lot to pack and then I’ll have to set up the new house and well… hopefully I’ll get a few hours to write, but I’m so sure, so...  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worrying leads to nothing.  
> And yet-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s a new chapter! I’m terribly sorry for the late update, but I got a bit… sidetracked with another fic and well… I’m sorry! But hopefully I’ll get back in track now since I don’t have another idea fighting for my attention right now (well… technically)  
> Anyway… enjoy?

"Did you miss me?" 

Sherlock takes a deep breath and wills himself not to panic. He knows it’s a dream (well, nightmare), but knowing it doesn’t make it any less scary. He stares evenly at his husband (ex husband?) and forces himself to answer, “not really.”

Moriarty laughs, in that shrilling tone that always made Sherlock’s skin crawl. He reminds himself sharply that the man in front of him is nothing but a product of his overactive imagination, but it helps very little. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them, the scenery has changed. They’re no longer standing in the gardens and his husband is wearing heavy shackles, but his heart is still beating erratically and he can feel the panic threatening to overwhelm him at any given second.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” he questions softly, not really expecting an answer. He knows why, anyway. 

“Do you really want to get rid of me, darling?” the other male asks him, tilting his head to the side curiously. “And here I thought we had something special!” he adds on a mocking tone, a wide crazy smile on his lips. Sherlock sighs, running a hand through his messy hair.

“You’re nothing but a product of my imagination,” he argues darkly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Moriarty smirks, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“Is that so? Well, it isn’t such a bad thing, I think. At least I get to live in your memory forever, huh?”

“No,” Sherlock utters, but his voice quivers a bit. His husband’s smirk widens and Sherlock gulps. “No. I refuse to-”

“You can’t escape, Sherlock dear.” The other male takes a step towards him and Sherlock hurries to step back, which makes the Alpha laugh cruelly. “You can run, but you’ll never escape. Better to accept it.”

“No,” Sherlock insists, shaking his head, his tone now desperate. “No. You didn’t win! I won! I’m still alive and you’re- you’re-”

“Victory is such an ambiguous thing, isn’t it? Your brother certainly has his kingdom and his crown and his pretty Beta lover to go along with, but what do you have, Sherlock darling? Your Alpha doctor and your baby girl?”

“Yes.”

Moriarty laughs once more, throwing his head back. “Is that so? What’s that funny little smell clinging to your dear John, then? Pepper and mint; too spicy, don’t you think? But then, it suits her quite well, don’t you think?”

Sherlock’s heart stops. No. No, that can’t be.

“Don’t be silly, love. Of course he doesn’t want you anymore; why would he, when he can have someone else? Someone who isn’t… broken?” Sherlock closes his eyes, forcing himself to keep on breathing. He knows nothing of this is real, this is just his subconscious throwing his greatest fears at him: it’s not real and yet-

“I won’t listen to you. You’re lying.”

Moriarty shrugs, that crazy smirk still on his lips. “Suit yourself darling. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

* * *

 

Sherlock wakes up out of breath, his heart beating furiously inside his chest. John is deeply asleep next to him, an arm carelessly thrown over Sherlock’s waist. He was always a bit of a light sleeper, but Sherlock has gotten better at not disturbing his sleep, no matter his level of distress when he wakes up.

The Prince sighs, carefully disentangling himself from his lover’s embrace. John makes a soft sound of protest, but doesn’t wake up and Sherlock breathes a bit easier; he’s in no mood to talk at all.

His dream felt far too real, but that wasn’t the worst part of it. It’s not the first time he has dreamt of his husband and he suspects it won’t be the last, but that’s hardly the matter. The real issue with tonight’s dream…

It’s true that there’s a funny scent clinging to John’s clothes when he comes back from work. The doctor is currently working at the town’s small clinic; considering the lack of doctors in general, he was welcome there with open arms and Sherlock can’t begrudge him his wish to pursue his career, even though he misses him dearly. Still-

It’s silly, really, but he can’t help to worry a bit. Of course he knows John loves him, but then again-

No, he shouldn’t think about that. It’ll do nothing but upset him.

And yet-

 

* * *

The days blend together predictability and no matter what little things Sherlock comes up with to distract himself with, nothing holds his interest long enough. Abigail seems to have the same trouble really, but luckily for her, she’s not quite as socially awkward as her Omega father and so she has managed to strike some sort of friendship with the neighborhood children.

All for the best, because Sherlock does remember how is it like to be young and lonely and his baby girl doesn’t even have an older sibling to occasionally entertain her so-

Mycroft has hinted more than once that she should start being educated at the Castle so she can one day inherit his title, but Sherlock is more than a bit reluctant to let that happen. He knows he’ll have to agree, sooner or later and he did promise his brother he’ll let his daughter become his heir, but-

She’s so young and being Crown Princess would be such a heavy burden.

He sighs, leaning back on his seat, his head hurting a little. Technically he’s the Crown Prince right now, but Mycroft has been overlooking his duties ever since the coronation. His brother understands that Sherlock has no interest on ruling and he’s more than capable of handling things on his own but-

He probably won’t quite as understanding with Abigail. He can’t afford to be, really.

Damn, why must everything be so complicated?

He stands up, heading towards the kitchen to examine his latest experiment with a bit of fungus. John complained once about it and then let it go, understanding Sherlock’s need to entertain himself with something. Sherlock had also tried to entertain himself with learning to cook and doing the housework, but he didn’t quite succeeded and seeing the mess he created, John and him agreed it would be safer if he sticked to his regular experiments.

He stares at the bit of fungus without really seeing, his mind far away. Once upon a time, he and John used to help Lestrade with capturing criminals. Well, he would figure where the criminals were hiding and Lestrade (well, the guards under his orders) would handle the rest, but the point remained: it had been fun and although the level of cleverness of the criminal population of the kingdom left a lot to be desired, it was still something to do.

Now though… Lestrade is far too busy for handling petty crime and so he has left Donovan in charge. Problem is the woman hates Sherlock’s guts and he has a hard time standing her, so that’s not really an option right now.

But maybe he could learn to cope with seeing Donovan on regular basis. It ought to be better than this, wasting away, carrying on with life without really living. Of course he’s not quite as depressed as he was a few months ago, but an occupation would do wonders for his psyche.

If nothing else, it would leave him with less time alone with his demons.

_ Aww, but darling! You know you’ll miss me. _

He huffs indignantly, frustrated with his own hyperactive imagination. He does miss Moriarty’s cleverness, if nothing else he did keep him entertained. But then-

He shakes his head, willing the ridiculous thought away. His husband had been far too intriguing for the sake of his sanity and he realizes there’s something terribly twisted with his way of thinking, but he can’t completely help it. He bores too easily and it had been nice to have someone who could keep him on his toes, even if- even if-

Oh god, what is he even thinking?

That’s why he needs something to do. He can’t keep on like this. It’s not healthy and in the long run it’ll ruin his chance at happiness. And yet-

Easier said than done.

* * *

 

There’s that scent once more, only Sherlock isn’t certain he’s not hallucinating it. He knows his mind sometimes plays dirty tricks on him, so it’s entirely possible his paranoia is making him smell something that isn’t there. After all, Mary left  _ years  _ ago and if she had came back… someone would have said something to him already, wouldn’t they? His brother at the very least-

But then, Mycroft is so very busy nowadays. It’s possible he missed something (unlikely, but possible) and if that’s the case-

But John would have said something, wouldn’t he?

Abigail has long ago gone to bed, so he pulls John against him and kisses him passionately, instantly trying to undress him. John chuckles at his enthusiasm, but lets him, dragging him towards the bedroom, both trying to keep quiet so not to wake up their daughter. The whole scent-thing hasn’t gotten much better, but Sherlock has never had much interest in sexual release and so he’s happy to just pleasure John. Since his own arousal is mostly non-existent, they manage well enough.

It’s not ideal and he worries constantly about John’s satisfaction with their current agreement, but he tries not to think about that. Particularly not now, when there’s another doubt eating him inside; not now when he fears-

Not now.

“Is there something wrong?” John questions softly and Sherlock realizes he has frozen for far too long. He shakes his head and offers him a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. John frowns, but before he can say anything else Sherlock hurries to kiss him again and does his very best to stop any further attempt of talking.

It’s for the best, really.

He doesn’t know if there’s something wrong, after all.

But he hopes-

It doesn't matter, does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? I… I really love writing Jim. But I do realize this is all kind of twisted, but I don’t think it’s that far fetched? I mean… this sort of thing does happen in canon so…  
> As for Mary… I have mixed feelings about Mary. But well, she works for the plot so she’ll be around. For how long and in which capacity… well, that’s left to be seen ;)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets always come to light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter is here! I was planning on updating sooner, but I couldn’t quite decide how I wanted to write this chapter and I rewrote it a couple of times since the scenes weren’t coming together nicely. I’m still unsure about it but well… I hope you’ll enjoy it?  
> Warnings for some implied infidelity. Although I should tell you I can stomach reading/writing infidelity so… not really? Stick with me (trust me!) and you’ll see!

The thing about secrets is that they always come to light, no matter what. You can be careful about them, you can keep them close to your chest, hiding them so effectively that you believe no one, ever, will find out.

But secrecy is just an illusion.

And when it shatters… the price is always too high to pay.

* * *

 

Sherlock had gone to visit his brother at the Castle, bored out of his mind back home. Abigail had gone along with him and had promptly gotten distracted by Molly’s promise of dissecting a rat, so she had chosen to stay at the Castle when he had headed back to the village. Sherlock isn’t exactly sure how he feels about his daughter’s rather… unconventional and morbid tastes, but considering his own- well. He’s really not one to talk.

Still, while he’s not completely thrilled with not having Abigail near, at least he knows his baby girl is perfectly safe. Only of course she’s hardly a baby anymore, is she? And Mycroft is right, she needs to start learning her duties as Crown Princess, but-

He sighs, contemplating the merits of just heading towards the house or going looking for John at the clinic. It sounds like a perfectly good idea, really: he and John can enjoy a night out since they don’t have their daughter to worry about and-

Yes, it sounds like a very lovely idea.

With that thought in mind he heads towards the clinic, unknowingly sealing his fate.

Secrets always come to light.

That’s why one shouldn’t keep them.

* * *

 

The place is nearly deserted when he arrives, but it doesn’t surprise him. It is, after all, quite late and John should be getting ready to leave, which is perfect for Sherlock’s plans, because he lacks the patience to wait quietly while the doctor works.

He greets a couple of the staff members with a nod of his head, unwilling to engage in conversation. People are always a bit wary of him, his status and his own social awkwardness not helping a bit. 

He continues walking, a soft smile playing on his lips at the thought of John’s surprise at his sudden appearance. His lover will be surprised, no doubt, but it would a pleasant surprise, would it not? And-

His thoughts get interrupted as a scent fills his nostrils. His heart stops, clenching painfully inside his chest, but he forces himself to keep on walking; to face his fears and discover once and for all if his mind is playing tricks on him or if he actually has something to worry about.

“Oh, hello Sherlock!”

She looks exactly as he remembers her, if a bit older. Her blond hair has grown longer, curling at the ends, giving her a softer, kinder look. Her eyes still have that sharp edge, but the friendly way she smiles makes people believe she’s harmless. 

“Hello Mary,” he greets calmly, as if his heart hasn’t just shattered into a million pieces. “I wasn’t aware you had came back.”

She smiles, that dangerous smile that most people don’t recognize as such, but Sherlock isn’t most people, is he? “Didn’t John mention it? I’ve been working here for over three months.”

She came back before they moved into the village. But if she was already working at the clinic- “He must have forgotten to mention it,” Sherlock comments off handedly, his lips curving in a dangerous smile of his own. “How lovely to see you again.”

They stare at each other for the longest time, a silent battle of wills. They never got along well, although they both were good at pretending, if only for John’s sake. Back then, Sherlock had told himself that as long as John was happy, it was enough for him, but now-

“It’s been a rather long time,” Mary comments, her tone still light and friendly. “You’ve been up to all sort of interesting things, if rumor is to be trusted.”

Sherlock shrugs, not really wanting to engage in conversation with her, but- “What about you? I’d think a former spy has far more interesting stories to share than a sheltered Prince, huh?”

Once upon a time they had traded veiled insults like this on regular basis and it comes all too easily to Sherlock. However, all his insults and barbs were completely meaningless, for Mary had always had the upperhand: she had had what (who) Sherlock wanted more than anything in the world and nothing he could do or say would have changed that.

Although in the end that hadn’t quite been true, had it?

Mary smirks, her eyes flashing. She’s bright and vicious and Sherlock knows she’s to be feared, but he can’t bring himself to tread carefully. His heart has an open wound that keeps on bleeding and he refuses to back down right now.

“Not as interesting as you would think,” she replies calmly. “It got pretty boring pretty soon. That’s why I’m here, actually. Trying to turn on a new leaf, so to speak.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. Life on the run isn’t really for me. I’m thinking of settling down, get a mate, have children. You know. The  _ happy ever after.” _

No, Sherlock doesn’t really. But then, he didn’t really follow the usual steps for that, so... “That’s nice.”

“Very,” Mary agrees, her smirk firmly in place. “I would have done that with John years ago, but the timing wasn’t quite right so… now, however, seems like a good moment, don’t you agree?”

She’s being cruel and petty and he knows it; she’s just trying to hurt him. 

And she’s succeeding. “Of course. Excuse me, I’m afraid I must take my leave now.”

Mary’s smirk widens and she nods. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll let John know you were here, won’t I?”

“I honestly couldn’t care less,” Sherlock replies evenly, somehow managing not to break down. He turns around and walks down the hall as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running away. His heart is beating furiously inside his chest and he feels like he can barely breath; he needs to get out before-

The night air is like a bucket of cold water that brings him back to the present immediately. He closes his eyes and forces himself to take deep breaths, telling himself this isn’t as bad as it seems.

Of course John  _ lied _ to him, but-

Mostly, he feels betrayed. He didn’t really expect John to want to stay with him, he does understand that he’s  _ damaged  _ now, but he did expect John to tell him the truth.  If he wanted to leave… well, it would have broken Sherlock’s heart, but it’s not like he would have hold him against his will. 

He understands, he really does. Mary was- well, of all the rather insipid Omegas John ever dated, she at least was interesting. Cruel and a tad bitter, yes, but-

She did love John. And she would try to make him happy. She can give him everything that Sherlock no longer can and that’s- that’s-

John deserves to be happy. And he’s not nearly selfish enough to deny him that chance.

With a sigh, he begins to head back to their house, although he guesses it won’t be  _ theirs  _ for long. All for the best, really. He’ll move back in the Castle and he’ll start actually taking his Crown Prince’s duties seriously and Abigail can start her schooling and-

It’ll be for the best.

* * *

 

The house is dark and empty when he arrives, which is perfectly logical since Abigail is at the Castle and John is still at work, but the emptiness seems to mock Sherlock and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s tearing the kitchen apart in senseless rage, trying to work out his frustration and hurt.

It doesn’t really help and by the time he gets tired, the whole house is an inhabitable mess that just makes him even more frustrated.

He sits on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He had known it wouldn’t last, he had known John wouldn’t stay in the long run (why would he?) but-

_ I warned you, didn’t I darling? _

He growls, banging the back of his head against the wall in an effort to shut up his dead husband’s voice inside his head. It doesn’t work of course and he ends up with a headache for his troubles.

He should have let John marry Mary all those years ago. It would have saved them all a lot of hassle, wouldn’t it? John wouldn’t have been sent to the northern border, Sherlock wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, Magnussen wouldn’t have ended up with such leverage over Mycroft, half of that mess would have been avoided. Why hadn’t he?

Because he loved John and he had foolishly believed that one day they could be together. God, why is he such an idiot?

_ Leave now. There’s nothing for you here. _

Sherlock bites his lip harshly, pondering his options. He does want to leave; run far away and never come back. But that’s not an option, not really. He has a daughter to think about and he- he-

God, he is desperately hoping John has a good reason for not telling him about Mary’s return. A reason that does not involve him planning to elope with her, that is.

_ Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock. Don’t be foolish. _

He closes his eyes to stop the tears from falling. It’s no use to hypothesize without the full data, but-

He’ll wait for John and then they’ll talk. Seems like the most logical,  _ grown up _ solution.

Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

* * *

 

Only John doesn’t come back that night. And why would he, really? Now that the ruse is up, why should he bother to pretend any different?

Sherlock sits in the middle of his teared down living room and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? Does it feel rushed? Does Sherlock’s and Mary’s “confrontation” feels… I don’t know… weird?  
> This didn’t quite go like this. When I started writing this chapter, John was supposed to appear in the middle of Sherlock’s and Mary’s talk but it wasn’t really working so I changed it and well… this happened.  
> Let me know what you thought?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk. Somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I think it might feel a bit forced, but I’m not completely sure so… Enjoy?

“Well, I hate to be the guy that tells you,  _ I told you so, _ but I most definitely told you so.”

Sherlock ignores his husband, but of course the ghost isn’t even slightly affected by his pretended indifference. “It was obvious, really. Even all those years ago, it made no sense he chose you. I mean, clearly he had far much better options.”

Sherlock snarls at that, but the other male just laughs cruelly. “Oh, come on Sherlock. Let’s be realistic,” he leans closer, a hand resting against the nape of his neck and the younger male remains frozen under the uncomfortable contact. “You have a brilliant mind,” Moriarty whispers against his ear, making Sherlock shiver. “But other than that? You’re nothing.”

Sherlock knows that it’s all inside his head and this are just all his insecurities taking the face and the voice of his deceased husband, because for all his sins, his husband had certainly found him desirable in both body and mind, but  _ knowing that  _ changes nothing. The fact that remains is that John doesn’t want him anymore and that’s- that’s-

“Ah, come on now. No crying. You knew it would come down to this.”

The Prince pushes away, anger and sadness battling inside him. He’s not certain what exactly he’s feeling, he just knows it’s awful and he never wants to feel like that again. But what do now? He had thought he could talk things out with John, but evidently that’s not going to happen, so-

“Must I spell it out for you?” Moriarty questions lightly, leaning casually against the wall, looking perfectly relaxed. “Leave. There’s nothing for you there.”

There isn’t, certainly. He should go back to the Castle and try to pick up the pieces of his life. He needs to find something to do with himself, something that gives him purpose once more. There are better things for him to do than pine pathetically over his lost childhood love.

But-

He has a family and friends that will help. He’s not alone, he can do- there must be something he can do. He’ll find something. It’s not like his whole life used to revolve around John, is it?

Except that it kind of did, didn’t it? Wasn’t he purposeless after he was sent to the northern borders? Didn’t he spend his days wasting away, thinking there was nothing left for him to live for? Even afterwards, once he found out he was pregnant, he kept on living without really living, merely existing, doing things because he was supposed to, doing things for the sake of his loved ones, but-

God, how did he allow this to happen?

And yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it. If he could go back in time and change something… he wouldn’t trade John for the world. All the pain would be worth it for their brief flicker of happiness, even if- even if-

He’ll find something for himself. He’ll be fine.

“Oh, will you really?”

He needs to believe he will.

* * *

 

He’s startled into awareness by the sound of the door opening abruptly. For a second, he doesn’t recognize where he is and his blood runs cold, but the feeling quickly fades as he takes in his surroundings. He’s lying on the cold floor, neck stiff from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep into and his whole body aching unpleasantly, protesting against any attempt of movement.

Still, he attempts to sit up. Having a conversation while lying on the floor doesn't seem terribly civilized and so he forces himself to move, even if every muscle in his body insists it’s a bad idea.

John is standing by the door, looking for all intents and purposes as if he has seen a ghost. He’s deadly pale, his clothes dirty and in a state of disarray, his hair a mess due someone running their fingers through it constantly. But what stops Sherlock’s heart are the bloodshot eyes that are staring at him in open disbelief. “You’re still here,” the doctor whispers, not moving from his spot at the door. “Why are you still here?”

Sherlock flinches and hurries to stand up, his heart breaking for what feels like the millionth time. “I’ll be on my way,” he murmurs softly, ignoring the tears stinging his eyes. “Should have left last night, really. I don’t know-”

But John is suddenly standing in front of him, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to make eye contact. For what a feels like a lifetime but must be nothing more than a few seconds, they stare at each other in silence, as if they could see into each other’s souls. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it’s certainly odd. It feels like there are a thousand conversations taking place at the same time and it makes Sherlock feel a bit dizzy. “I didn’t think you would still be here,” John whispers, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

Sherlock doesn’t dare to pull away, craving the contact even if he doesn’t understand what’s going on here. “Did you want me to be gone?” he whispers breathlessly, his whole body shivering, all the previous achiness long forgotten.

John chuckles, but it sounds like a sob and he pulls him closer, his nose pressing against his mating gland and Sherlock shivers once more, still not sure what to make of John’s bizarre behavior. “No,” his companion whispers finally, kissing his way up the Prince’s neck and jaw. “Never.”

Sherlock doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t, but all his rational thought has escaped. He knows they need to talk, he knows that leaving anything on ambiguous terms will do nothing but hurt him and yet, his body doesn’t seem willing to listen to reason. He lets John pull him closer, one hand in the back of his neck, the other sliding down his back and he lets out a breathless moan that seems to spur his lover forward.

They somehow end up lying on the couch, both breathing heavily. The scent of their mutual arousal is almost overpowering and Sherlock has to breath through his mouth to avoid feeling sick, but while their scents might be in conflict, he wants-

Well, it doesn’t matter what he wants, because that’s when John pulls away and hurries towards the bathroom. Sherlock remains where he is, the sound of John retching making him feel throwing up himself. This is never going to work, is it?

“Sorry about that,” John whispers, when he finally comes back. “I might have- I might have drunk too much last night.”

Sherlock rewards him curiously, now feeling terribly unsure. Now that his desire has had time to cool off, he’s trying to make sense of John’s behavior, but it really makes no sense whatsoever. His enthusiastic response from earlier suggests he still wants to be with Sherlock, but if that’s true-

What does this all mean?

“You didn’t tell me,” he says softly, almost reluctantly. He’s not certain he wants to have this conversation, but he knows they must. Whatever the future may hold… it all starts with this conversation.

John flinches, but doesn’t deny it. He takes a seat at Sherlock’s feet, looking terribly uncertain and the Prince’s heart aches at the sight. He wants to pull him close and forget all about last night, but- “I’m sorry about that,” John whispers softly, resting a hand lightly against his calf. “I just- the first time I saw Mary, she told me she was just passing by, that she would be gone in less than a month. And I didn’t- I figured telling you wouldn’t do any good. You’d just end up worrying and there was really nothing to worry about-” Sherlock scoffs and John bites his lip, “I know things haven’t been easy between us and-”

“And so you figured  _ lying  _ to me would make it better?” Sherlock snaps angrily and John flinches once more.

“I wasn’t lying…”

“Lie by omission is still a lie, John,” the Prince argues darkly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “When I saw her- what did you want me to think?”

“Sherlock-”

“And I’ve been smelling her all over you these last few weeks, but I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid and then I go visit you and she’s there and- really, what was I to think?”

John looks honestly pained and Sherlock is aching to comfort him, but he’s angry and hurt too and- “I know how it looks like,” the doctor murmurs softly. “Which is why I did believe- I saw you leaving the clinic last night. I figured you had seen her and so when she told me you had said you never wanted to see me again-”

Oh, dear god. Why would he believe such thing? “Why would you-?”

“I understand that I betrayed your trust, even if that was never my intention. And I could see how this would have hurt you,” John whispers softly, not looking at him. “So yes- It made an awful lot of sense.”

Sherlock pursues his lips, unsure of what to answer to that. It’s true that he considered leaving without waiting for an explanation, but in the end- “So what, you figured getting drunk was a better idea-?”

“A better idea than coming to an empty house?” John interrupts him, looking tired and defeated. “Yeah, I did.”

Sherlock sighs, resting his head against the back of the couch. “God, we’re a mess.”

John chuckles sadly, now running his hand up and down his calf and the Prince can’t help to smile a bit, if a little brokenly. “We are,” he agrees softly. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock hums, unsure if he ought to say something else. It’s true he’s upset about the whole Mary ordeal, but that’s really not the main issue here. Not if what John says is true, not if John is really staying. “We really haven’t talked,” the Prince murmurs softly, not looking at him directly. “We just- I mean, we have a daughter and we were in love before- well, before everything but we haven’t really- do you really want this?”

“Sherlock-”

“Well, no, I mean, of course we both still want a life together, because if we didn’t- well. We wouldn’t be here right now, would we? But what- what exactly do you want, John? And please don’t say something vague, because I swear-”

“You,” John answers simply and when Sherlock glares, he smiles softly. “It’s not vague, Sherlock. I want you, all that that entails. I’ve always wanted you. There never was someone else, regardless of- well. The only reason I was willing to settle for someone else was because I didn’t think you felt the same way, but once I knew the truth- those years away were awful and I missed you dearly. I spent far too much time at the watching towers, staring at the ocean because it reminded me of your eyes, you know?” he chuckles and Sherlock’s heart clenches. They have never really talked of what they  _ felt  _ during those years apart, all they’ve ever discussed is what they did to avoid feeling. “I spent countless nights starting at the ceiling, having pretended conversations with you, because I was so desperately lonely... and it helped a little, imagining what you would say or do and that was really the high point of my day so,” he gestures vaguely, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Now that I’m here, now that you’re here with me, what else can you imagine I could want?”

Sherlock bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that. “I- I missed you too.” He curses his inability to really  _ talk,  _ especially now considering John has just bared his soul to him, but he’s at lost of what he can possibly say; he can’t accurately portray the deep of his despair, of his longing-

John kisses him again, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “I know love, I know. You don’t have to say anything.”

But silences can be very costly. “I love you,” he whispers softly and as he hears John’s sharp intake of breath, he clings tighter to his lover. “I love you so much.”

There is, of course, still a lot to discuss, but it’s obvious they’re both quite drained after such an awful night and so for now, they simply cling to each other in silence, allowing themselves to relax. It doesn’t take long before they’re both asleep and while it’s likely they’ll wake up with their muscles protesting at the uncomfortable position, they won’t mind.

Love is funny that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? I’m not very good at dialogues, so that last part feels… weird. I think it works, but does it feel forced? I really can’t tell for sure.  
> I also think we might need to see John’s POV about this whole mess, so I think I’m writing a companion piece. Besides, we need to see what exactly was he up the night before, don’t we? Now I just have to figure out what exactly to write...  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time heals all wounds.  
> Love certainly helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I think it might be the last one? Huh. We’ll see, I guess. It might be a little overly hopeful? But maybe that’s just the angst lover in me...  
> Enjoy?

“Why didn’t you tell me? You knew, didn’t you?”

His brother doesn’t meet his eyes and that’s more than answer enough. Sherlock huffs, frustrated. “Stop treating me like a child! I don’t need- I don’t need you to protect me! I’m sick of being left in the dark because you think _ it’s for my own good.” _

Once more, Mycroft doesn’t answer and Sherlock sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Why can nobody trust me to react appropriately? Haven’t I proved I can act maturely?”

“Oh, darling, they’re never going to trust you,” Moriarty comments off handedly, from his place in the corner. “You’ll always be a child in desperate need of protection. Besides, with all your  _ issues, _ can you really blame them?”

“Shut up!” the Prince exclaims angrily. “I’m fine! I can handle the truth!”

“Oh, Sherlock, it’s for your own good,” his brother finally speaks up and Sherlock turns to face him. “It’s better this way.”

“But-”

“You have to admit you’re a bit…  _ fragile  _ right now.” It’s John’s voice the one speaking this time and Sherlock refuses to turn to face this dream version of John. “Just see how you reacted! Can you honestly tell me that you could have handled the truth?”

“Yes,” the Prince hisses darkly. “Better than keep on being fed lies.”

“It was for your own good,” the other three males say at the same time and Sherlock shakes his head, angry and frustrated. He knows that it’s all a dream and that nothing of this is real, but still-

It’s one thing to deal with the Moriarty inside his head; he’s used to the taunts and the cruelty, but to have John and Mycroft here too-

It’s a bit too much.

He shakes his head and covers his ears, refusing to listen to another word, willing himself to wake up. The other men keep on talking, but he tries to concentrate on something else, desperately praying he’ll wake up soon.

All the while fearing his prayers won’t be answered.

* * *

 

“Sherlock!”

He wakes up with a start, his neck protesting dearly at his sudden movement. He looks around, disoriented, and finally calms down enough to recognize the voice talking to him. “What happened?” he asks softly, sitting up straight, trying to make sense of what’s going on.

“You were crying in your sleep,” John whispers softly, a hand already caressing the back of his neck soothingly. “I’m so sorry, love.”

“Nothing to be sorry of,” Sherlock protests, although that’s not quite true. Still, he’s starting to remember bits and pieces of his dream and he’s not really in the mood to discuss  _ that  _ again. “It’s all fine.”

“It really isn’t,” John argues calmly, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “I should have told you truth. I should have trusted you to react calmly.”

Sherlock lets out a bitter chuckle, remembering all too well his dream now. “It was for my own good.”

John frowns, confused and pulls him closer into his embrace. “I should trust you to know what’s better for yourself. It’s not fair to make unilateral decisions. I should have- I should have told you.”

“I probably would have overreacted,” he murmurs softly. “It’s fine, really.”

“No,” John repeats. “I want- I want to look after you, love. I wish to keep you from getting hurt ever again, but I should never- I should never keep you in the dark. You deserve my honesty and my trust. In the end, I need to be confident that you’ll do what’s best for you.”

The Prince doesn’t say anything right away, instead pressing himself closer to his lover. “Just don’t do it ever again.”

John nods, pressing a soft kiss against the top of his head. “I promise.”

For now, it’ll do.

* * *

 

Abigail looks worried by their late arrival, but of course she doesn’t say anything, instead entertaining them with tales of the things she’s been up with Molly. The older female smiles sheepishly as Abigail retells the story of the dissected rat, which sounds, even for Sherlock’s standards, pretty gross.

Still, Sherlock listens quietly, all too willing to postpone the other reason for his visit. Now that he’s at the Castle, he finds his confidence faltering. He’s not completely certain he wants to face Mycroft, but he knows he needs to talk to his brother. He’s not looking forward the conversation, not really, but needs must.

John takes Abigail with him, the girl still happily telling him about her day and Sherlock makes his way towards his brother’s study, an unpleasant weight on his chest slowing him down. After the whole not-telling-him-John-was-alive debacle, he had thought his brother would not be keeping secrets from him again, but-

Mycroft is sitting by the fire, a dark frown on his face. He looks up at the sound of the door opening, but he quickly goes back to his contemplation of the dancing flames.

Sherlock hesitates, a part of him desperately looking for ways out of this conversation. Mycroft seems to sense his hesitation however, for he looks his way once more, arching an eyebrow questioningly.

“Did you know?” he asks softly, flinching despite his best attempts to remain unperturbed. Mycroft frowns for a beat and then realization seems to hit him, so he smooths his expression. Sherlock’s heart constricts, but he remains perfectly still.

“It wasn’t my place,” his brother tells him quietly, standing up slowly. “I didn’t wish to make it seem like I was trying to-” he bites his lip, uncertain. “I’m aware that in the past I meddled in your relationship with John, but considering everything that has happened… It didn’t seem right to intervene.”

“You knew he hadn’t told me.”

Mycroft nods, thoughtful. “We spoke of the matter on several occasions. It’s my belief that he discussed the issue with Gregory too, but while he felt terribly guilty about not saying anything…” his brother looks pained, worried. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“I understand,” the Prince murmurs softly, wrapping his arms around himself. “To a point, I do. I- I’ve already talked with John. He admits he should have trusted me to react accordingly and I guess- I guess I appreciate you staying out of my business for once.”

The King makes a face, scrunching his nose a bit. “Your well being will ever be my bussiness, Sherlock,” he utters darkly. “But on this matter… it seemed wise to let you settle things on your own. Healthier, too.”

Sherlock nods, thoughtful. “Thank you, I suppose.”

His brother nods too, looking deadly serious. “Relationships are hard work, brother mine. I imagine that with the extra complications of yours- well. I don’t envy you one bit.” He smiles tentatively, “but I’m certain that if someone could make it work, it’d be you.”

Sherlock chuckles lightly at that, a small smile on his lips. “I certainly hope so.”

* * *

 

“Does it bother you? If I- if I keep working at the clinic?”

They’re sitting at their small living room, watching Abigail play with the new toys Greg got her. Sherlock has curled next to John, his head resting on his shoulder, a content smile on his lips.

The question, however, brings him out of his happy bubble. He ponders about it for a bit, wanting to give a completely honest answer. “I can hardly ask you to give up your work,” he whispers finally, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the inside of John’s wrist. “I would prefer if you didn’t work anywhere close to her, but-” he shrugs, non committedly. “I know you like your job.”

“I do,” John agrees. “But if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock argues, sitting up straight. “I don’t like her and I don’t trust her but- I do trust you. And I trust our love.” He kisses him softly, gently. “After everything- I do believe it’ll take more than an ex girlfriend to break us apart.”

John chuckles, pulling him closer. “Only death would do us apart,” he murmurs, kissing him again. “And maybe not even that.”

Sherlock hums in agreement, pulling his lover into another long kiss. From somewhere in the background they can hear Abigail protesting about their display and they part, chuckling amusedly. 

As John stands up to chase their daughter around the house, the girl laughing loudly, Sherlock leans back on his seat and smiles, feeling deeply content and calm. It’s true that things aren’t perfect yet and maybe they’ll never be, but that’s fine.

In any case, love is not meant to be perfect.

Doesn’t mean it’s not fulfilling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, this might be the last chapter. Does it feel a little too out-of-nowhere? The point was to make the whole “happily ever after” believable, but I’m not sure if it really worked… do you guys think there are things left to be resolved?  
> In any case, there’ll be a epilogue. So… there’s another chapter at the very least ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings aren't always perfect.  
> But nearly so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, I’m so sorry for this terribly late update! But I promised I would finish this and now that I’m done with the other fics I started while working on this one, I figured it was high time to give you the happy ending I promised forever ago.  
> Enjoy?

“Did my brother put you up to it?”

Lestrade rolls his eyes, amused by the Prince’s haughty tone. Sherlock pouts, frustrated his tone just managed to amuse the guard. “Not really,” Lestrade answers, with a shrug. “I’ve always thought you needed to keep yourself entertained, particularly after John started working at the clinic and- well, you’ve always liked mysteries.”

Sherlock nods, absentmindedly. “It doesn’t sound particularly thrilling, though.”

“There’ll be mostly very simple things,” Lestrade agrees calmly. “ But we’re living peaceful times. Surely you share my view that it’s better this way?”

The Prince shrugs, agreeing with the statement, but not wanting to say it outloud. “So I’ll basically help to solve any case your civilian justice enforcement force fails to do on their own? Won’t the civilians be- reluctant to let me help?”

“Believe it or not, people like you Sherlock,” Lestrade argues calmly. “I think they all find yours and John’s story very appealing. They think you more… understanding of their troubles because of that.”

“They clearly don’t me too well, then.” He looks away, trying to hide his smile.

The guard chuckles, a small smile on his lips. “They clearly don’t.”

 

* * *

 

In theory, a civilian group in charge of security and justice for the commoners is a good idea. It makes people feel… safer, in a sense. They seem more willing to trust them than the regular guard in any case and it makes sense: during the former King’s reign the guards of the Castle were nothing but trouble for the common folk.

Things are changing, of course, but Mycroft is determined to let people see (or at least believe), he’s more concerned with their troubles and yet, willing to let them solve them in the manner they see best fit. It’s a good political move; having the population on his side will prove useful, if he ever encounters yet another conspiracy to overthrow him.

But Sherlock is probably giving him too little credit. His brother isn’t quite heartless and he might be, indeed, concerned for the common man. Lestrade, after all, comes from a very poor background.

None of that matters to him, not really. The important thing is the realm of possibilities this development might open for him; he has always had a penchant for solving mysteries and he had enjoyed helping Lestrade caught criminals and he’s good at it. It might be dangerous and terribly reckless and not something a Crown Prince ought to be doing, but-

He likes the idea. He likes it very much.

He wonders if he can persuade John to help him and quit his job at the clinic. It might be selfish, because he mostly just wants to keep John away from Mary, but he thinks his partner would like the challenge too. Far much more interesting than whatever he deals with in the clinic, Sherlock thinks, and far more dangerous.

John has always shared his penchant for danger, after all.

But the Alpha seems to enjoy his current  _ pleasant, comfortable  _ life. Of course he lived at the Northern Borders for over two years, so probably he has seen enough danger and carnage to last for a lifetime, but maybe-

Well, he’ll just have to ask, won’t he?

 

* * *

 

He stands outside the clinic for the longest time, contemplating his options once more. He knows his fears are unfounded: he trusts John and after their last conversation, he’s certain the doctor isn’t about to leave him for someone else, but-

He recalls all too well how his last visit to the clinic went and he’s not eager to revive that. Besides, he really doesn’t want to see Mary: he might trust John and their love, but there’s no need-

“Your Highness!” Mike Stanford greets him merrily and Sherlock rolls his eyes. The doctor offers him a kind smile, placing a hand on his back and so pushing him along in his way to the clinic. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

Once more, Sherlock rolls his eyes. The doctor remains perfectly unperturbed, smiling brightly. The Royal Physician is a good natured man, apparently perpetually cheerful and he seems to have a soft spot for the younger Prince, although Sherlock could never tell why is that exactly.

“I’m looking for John,” the Prince answers simply, with a small shrug and Mike’s smile turns brighter. 

“Of course, of course. Just down the hall,” he says, pointing the way, still smiling. Sherlock attempts to smile back, still feeling slightly nervous, but unwilling to let it show. The older male simply pats his back once before pushing him in the direction John is.

The clinic is filled with people coming and going and Sherlock attempts not to let it bother him. He dearly hopes he won’t run into Mary while on the hall; god knows that would be awkward and embarrassing. He certainly doesn’t want to cause a scene.

People observe him curiously and some smile at him uncertainly. Sherlock attempts his best to return the polite smiles and the occasional greetings from the doctors. As he nearly reaches the end of the hall he finds himself breathing easier, thinking he has managed to dodge this particular bullet.

The door to John’s surgery opens and Sherlock’s heart stops as a blond female steps out. She’s looking at the documents she’s carrying, so she doesn’t notice him and for that the Prince is eternally grateful, not wanting anyone to witness his near meltdown.

She’s the wrong height and her hair is the wrong shade of blond, but for a second-

Yet John promised he would ask for Mary not to be anywhere near him and while he couldn’t ask for her to get fired, he promised he would be avoiding her to best of his capabilities.

It’s ridiculous to get this worked up, really, but-

“Sherlock?”

Lost in his own thoughts and recriminations, he has missed the door opening once more and John peaking outside. The Alpha looks slightly troubled, but mostly curious and so Sherlock smiles tightly. “Hello John.”

“What are you doing here?” the blond asks, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him inside the room, making the last of Sherlock’s anxiety dissolve. “Is everything alright? Where’s Abby?”

“Lestrade came to visit earlier,” the Prince explains calmly. “She wanted to go with him to the Castle, to visit Molly.”

John smiles briefly. “Are you alright?” he questions, probably still puzzled about Sherlock's previous nervousness.

Sherlock shakes his head, sliding his arms around John’s waist, pulling him closer. The doctor seems even more puzzled now, but doesn’t comment, instead returning the hug.

For a while, they stand just like that, breathing each other in. It’s a miracle, really, that they can have this now and Sherlock needs to stop second guessing everything, but-

“Sherlock?”

He pulls away, a watery smile on his lips. Now John looks most definitely concerned and Sherlock’s heart swells with affection. God, he loves him so very much- “There’s nothing wrong,” he assures him, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Lestrade made me… a job offer, so to speak. I was wondering if you would be interested in filling the position of my assistant.”

John arches an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? And would this new job of yours be dangerous?”

“Very,” Sherlock utters very seriously, although he doubts it. His lips twitch as he tries to suppress a smile and John chuckles, pulling him down for another kiss, this one longer. 

“Count me in, then.”

In lieu of a response, Sherlock kisses him again.

 

* * *

 

That night, huddled together in bed, Sherlock gazes at his lover and offers him a bright smile. John smiles back, running his fingers through his hair in a way that Sherlock finds incredibly pleasurable and so he purrs softly, making John giggle.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” John murmurs, pressing his lips against his forehead and Sherlock shivers, pulling himself closer to his partner. “I want you to know it’s okay if you say no, though. I won’t mind.”

Sherlock frowns, confused. John kisses him once more, slow and languid and Sherlock can feel himself relaxing immediately. “Will you marry me?”

For a beat, Sherlock can’t barely breathe, let alone speak. John turns concerned immediately and starts apologising, assuring him he really doesn’t mind if he doesn’t want to or if he needs more time-

“Shut up,” Sherlock hisses, climbing into his lap and silencing him with a bruising kiss that John has no qualms about returning. “Of course I will,” they kiss and kiss, soft relieved giggles escaping them both. “You stupid, silly man. How could you even think for a second I would say no?”

It’s what Sherlock always wanted and now that it seems he’s finally going to get it, how could he even consider saying no? He kisses John again, happy beyond words, thrilled that his wildest dream is finally coming true.

Of course the road that has brought them here wasn’t smooth and it certainly was filled with hurt and despair, but  _ it brought them here _ and while it’s far from perfect- while it’s not how he imagined things would come to pass-

Well, he can’t help thinking it was worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s done! Good Lord, this has been sitting unfinished in my documents for  _ centuries  _ really and I’m so terribly sorry!! The only thing I can say on my defense is that I lost my inspiration for this particular piece and it just wasn’t coming along like I wanted it, so-
> 
> But it’s done now! It’s not perfect, I know, but I hope it’s not terribly disappointing. I think the ending is happy, but realistically so, so it’s not really a happily ever after, but close enough. Or so I intended. Huh. Not sure if I managed.
> 
> Concerning Mary… I was indeed, planning on getting rid of her. But it seemed it worked better like this, not giving her any more importance on the plot. Not sure if that makes sense, but well- it just felt better to me.
> 
> Anyway, a million thanks for reading and putting up with my erratic posting schedule!! It’s been amazing to work on this fic and while I struggled  _ a lot  _ with the ending, I loved every minute of this journey. I hope you did too!
> 
> If you would like, I invite you to check my other fics. It’s always a joy to get to share my stories with you people.
> 
> Thanks for reading and once more, I’m sorry for taking so long to finish this! 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


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